


I could stab you right now

by versti_fantur



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Danger, M/M, and just have a goddamn conversation, glanni's bad decisions, these two idiots need to stop playing cat and mouse with each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versti_fantur/pseuds/versti_fantur
Summary: “I could stab you right now, if I wanted to,” Glanni murmured, his lips pressed to Íþróttaálfurinn’s shoulder, staining it with lipstick between the lingering shadows of old hickeys. Through the darkness, Íþróttaálfurinn half smiled, his soft laugh loud in the quiet of the room. “I mean it.”“But you won’t.”//Classic glanniþro, what more do you want?
Relationships: Glanni Glæpur/Íþróttaálfurinn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	I could stab you right now

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted some classic glannithro but ive already read through the entire tag so.... i wrote some more! Enjoy! <3

“I could stab you right now, if I wanted to,” Glanni murmured, his lips pressed to Íþróttaálfurinn’s shoulder, staining it with lipstick between the lingering shadows of old hickeys. He wasn’t lying, there was a switch blade tucked inside his platform boots, discarded by the side of the bed, almost blending into the dirty grey carpet of the motel room, barely an arm’s length away from where Glanni lay on the low mattress. Through the darkness, Íþróttaálfurinn half smiled, his soft laugh loud in the quiet of the room. “I mean it.”

“But you won’t,” Íþróttaálfurinn replied, his hand catching hold of Glanni’s, stopping him from jabbing Íþróttaálfurinn in the stomach again. He could sense Glanni’s lips twitching into a pout, and he chuckled again. “You like me too much.”

“Who says I like you?” Glanni wriggled up to rest his chin on Íþróttaálfurinn’s chest, his legs tangling in the sheets as he moved.

“I do.” He paused at the sound of a door slamming nearby, threading his free hand through Glanni’s hair and feeling Glanni lean in to his touch. “You’d be bored if you didn’t have me.”

“No I wouldn’t, I don’t need anyone. You’re just fun to fuck around with sometimes.” He pursed his lips at the unwavering grin Íþróttaálfurinn was giving him, half wanting to slap it off him, half wanting to kiss him until he shut up.

“Is that a challenge?” Catching Glanni by surprise, Íþróttaálfurinn shoved him off and pounced on him, so that his arms were braced aside Glanni’s shoulders and his knees entrapping Glanni’s hips between them. “If I walked out right now, you wouldn’t be upset?”

Glanni scoffed. “Of course not,” he said as he leant up for a kiss, but just before their lips met, Íþróttaálfurinn jumped backwards with a smirk, springing to his feet as the bed creaked precariously beneath them.

“Fine then!” Íþróttaálfurinn backflipped onto the floor, dodging Glanni’s attempt to pull him back with a mischievous smile. He dressed quickly as Glanni stared at him silently, and he could tell by the twitching of Glanni’s lip that he was fighting to keep a smile from his face despite the angry frown furrowing his brow. “Goodbye Glanni!”

“You wouldn’t.” Glanni glared at him as he hopped to the door, pulling his cap onto his head with a practiced ease.

“Bye!” Íþróttaálfurinn slipped out, leaving Glanni alone, for once, in the dirty white sheets, still rather surprised Íþróttaálfurinn had actually followed through with his threat.

~~~~

A week had passed since Íþróttaálfurinn had left, and Glanni wasn’t worried. Íþróttaálfurinn always came back, he was steady and stable and, _hell_ he’d weathered all of Glanni’s storms so far, which definitely took a certain type of character. He’d come back.

Two weeks and Glanni still wasn’t worried. They’d often spend this long apart, it didn’t bother him.

And yet, he’d disappeared during what Glanni had thought was one of their good days, which he still couldn’t understand… No. He didn’t like to dwell on the negatives. Íþróttaálfurinn would be back. It was a question of when, not if. He was just being childish.

A month and Glanni had started to become a little twitchy. 

He chain smoked outside a club of questionable legality he often frequented, the shadows around him thick and comforting. His latest scheme had fallen through at the last minute because of some fool getting arrested, and he was down to his last few coins. Hence why he was at the club, hoping for free drinks and a space in some rich person’s bed for the night; he’d worn the pants with the hidden pocket for the express purpose of pilfering jewellery from whoever it was he would sleep with.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the heat on his lips a sharp contrast to the chill of the cool night air, he exhaled smoke upwards into the dark night, a cloudless sky with no stars.

He half wished Íþróttaálfurinn was there with him, not that he’d ever admit it, and he hated how his hickeys had faded into nothingness beneath his shirt. Nothing to remember him by at all. 

Stubbing his cigarette out on the wall, he dropped it and slunk back inside. Plenty of other people to think about, to fuck, to steal. He didn’t need Íþróttaálfurinn. Not tonight. Not ever.

~~~~

Two months, three weeks, and five days since the motel room (not that he knew that, he wasn’t counting) and Glanni was neck deep in his latest con. All he had to do was hold his nerve for the next few days, refuse to buckle under the pressure, and they’d pay out. His disguise of an extravagant blue and green suit cemented his lies of being an eccentric business man, he had the whole town in the palm of his hand. Or rather, he would in a few days. Easy money.

All he had to do was not fuck up.

~~~~

All things considered, being pinned between a brick wall and the wrong end of a loaded gun barrel wasn’t exactly the prime definition of _not fucking up_. Somehow a mobster from Glaumbæjar had decided _right now_ was the perfect time to collect his debts, and despite Glanni insisting that he’d have the money in less than a day, the man ignored him, preferring to yell and shoot first, and leave the reasonable explanations until after. (Not that Glanni was actually planning on giving him any money anyway.)

_Because mob men never have any fucking patience_ Glanni grumbled to himself as he dodged another bullet (the man really was an awful shot).

Making a break for it, Glanni took off down a nearby alleyway, only realising it was a dead end when he was already halfway along it. The steps of the man echoed behind him, loud in the eerie quiet of the late twilight. _Fuck it_ , he began scaling the wall at the far end, hoping the dim light would be enough for him to remain unseen until he was long gone.

His fingers ached as he clutched at rough stone, arms shaking from the effort of hauling himself upwards. It took far more energy than he’d like to swing his leg over the top, and he lay flat for a minute to regain his wits. A minute was too long though and the man spotted him, pulling the trigger with reckless abandon, the echoes practically causing the buildings around them to shake. As one skimmed his leg, and he hissed in pain, instinctively pulling it upwards to protect himself. But as he moved, his balance shifted off the narrow ledge, and he found himself falling. The ground was lower on the far side, and he braced for impact against the cold tarmac, squeezing his eyes shut as the ground rushed up to meet him.

But it never came. 

Instead, strong arms cradled him, and before he even opened his eyes again, the smell of grass and apples washed over him like a wave. _Íþróttaálfurinn._

“You came back?”

“What have you got yourself into now?”

They spoke at the same time, the adrenaline pumping through Glanni’s veins slowing as he relaxed into familiar arms. The feeling was halted though, as the sounds of the mobster climbing the wall cut short their conversation.

“You should run,” Glanni whispered, and Íþróttaálfurinn nodded, pulling Glanni closer as he sprinted away, the streets blurring into one yellowish haze as Glanni leant against Íþróttaálfurinn’s chest. He’d forgotten how good it felt. How soft, so strong. 

Later, he’d blame it on the pain, adrenaline, and the glass of whiskey he’d drank earlier, but as he was pressed against Íþróttaálfurinn, all he could think about was quite how much it felt like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos brighten my day, ily all! <3


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